


Mate de coca

by Eshnoazot



Series: Ineffable Bureaucracy [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Beelzebub has a Bad Day, Beelzebub is Bad at Being Good, Beelzebub sends ~thoughts and prayers~ like a telemarketer, Dagon is a bro, Gabriel is Bad at Being Bad, Gabriel scrapbooks, Gabriel tries to use Ouija Boards to summon Beelzebub, It's okay to figure things out, It's okay to take your time, Mate de coca, Nom de guerre, Other, Permission to love doesn't mean permission to be loved, Poor emotional management, Sandalphon is Not Here For This, Wednesdays are symbolic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 17:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20746298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshnoazot/pseuds/Eshnoazot
Summary: “Sandy and I were having a fun Best Friends day,” Beelzebub hissed, “Because we don’t need you. You’re replaceable. I’ve replaced you.”“No, we were not,” Sandalphon responded, “I think you’re despicable and the fact that my idiot co-worker has a disgusting little crush on you is the single worst thing I ever heard. It was a traumatic experience for the whole board meeting. Poor Oriphiel started crying.”Gabriel went bright red.





	Mate de coca

**Author's Note:**

> Hey dudes, sorry I've been remiss. I've been mad busy preparing for Sydney Comic Con 2019.

Beelzebub was _never speaking_ to Gabriel ever again, and it was _entirely his fault_.

Beelzebub had been in a particularly _foul _mood, late Monday night when Gabriel had called to cancel their weekly Wednesday meeting. There had been a little conflict lately, skirmishes between the Angelic and Demonic forces based on Earth, and it was largely _fine_. Gabriel didn’t seem like he was going to be slamming the full force of Heaven down on Beelzebub anytime soon, and Beelzebub didn’t care to trial Gabriel.

With Gabriel now more or less their closest friend, it was like having diplomatic immunity – utterly_ thrilling_, and often a temptation. Beelzebub could appreciate a good thing though and didn’t dare to do much beyond toeing the line – until something _worth it_ finally appeared.

It was the constantly unravelling tapestry of Hell that was putting Beelzebub into a foul mood, that had been the first domino to fall, in retrospect. Hell was a constant mosh pit of sabotage and backstabbing, more or less, but sometimes it spiked in intensity for very little reason. The second domino to fall had been the utter realisation that Beelzebub was _miserable_. It came on the tail of the thought that, in their cubicle, there was only one object which they slightly thought of as something they_ enjoyed_. It was the growing collection of stalker shots Beelzebub had stolen from Gabriel’s expanding scrapbook collection. He’d taken to photography on his smartphone like a fish to water because _of course_ Gabriel’s love of paperwork extended to the creative visual kind. There were several blurry shots of Beelzebub and Gabriel relaxing over couches, and sternly doing paperwork side by side.

Beelzebub had seen Gabriel’s name flash on their phone screen and had made the _mistake_ to feel a little pleased before answering him.

It was a mistake that they would never repeat ever again because _Gabriel was dead_ _to them_.

“Hey, _pigeon_,” Beelzebub cheerfully had answered, despite the absolute horror of a day they’d faced, “Thai Food order isn’t due to be faxed for another 48 minutes. I’ll get to it.”

“Something came up,” He apologetically had said, and although Beelzebub couldn’t see him, they knew he was balling his fists up in his lavish silver scarf anxiously, “I’m on a deadline, and I have to get this sorted out ASAP, _Beelzly-Babe_. It’s super important, a little _more_ important than Thai food I’m afraid.”

Beelzebub had been filled with utter _rage_, something deep from inside their chest. It felt suspiciously like hurt and disappointment. Beelzebub refused to name it and give it power, but it _exploded_ from inside them before they could shove it back down, and coolly respond.

“Oh really,” Beelzebub had snarled back, “Get _fucked_, wank lord” and promptly ended the call, and blocked his stupid number for good measure. Then, they’d thrown the phone against the wall and screamed as loudly as they could until Dagon stuck her head in to tell them to can the caterwauling and express their pain like a proper demon: _sin_. Since then, Gabriel had taken to trying to call Beelzebub on any Ouija board within spitting distance, and Beelzebub had taken to recruiting demons to sent thoughts and prayer messages to Heaven telling Gabriel to _fuck off forever_.

Come Wednesday, and Beelzebub was in Huaraz, Peru.

Beelzebub had been coming to this specific locality since the world had been made; since the time when humans had first touched feet around the valley of the Santa River and Qillray and had worshipped _‘Waraq coyllur’_, the ‘morning star’ which had been an _absolutely great time_ for Hell’s morale. Then suddenly the Incan Empire had taken stronghold – and _that_ had been a party of a different kind.

To be fair, although Beelzebub never was, Gabriel _had_ called up 25 hours before their scheduled time – within the required mandatory 24 hour notice period sure – _to cancel_, but it hadn’t been until Wednesday morning that it had occurred to Beelzebub that they now had a free afternoon booked, and no idea how to _spend_ it. That was why they’d decided to treat themselves to a trip over to an old stomping ground, filled with fond memories of revelry and victory. Beelzebub was in such a bad mood, the worst thing they felt up to do, was to eat a truly demonic amount of roasted guinea pigs and mope around the place.

It – _wasn’t working_ as well as Beelzebub had hoped, and they’d started to wonder if they ought to pop over to Baalbek and see if they could restart an old sect of theirs when Beelzebub found themselves stilling and the hairs on the back of their neck _prickling_. It was a slow process of the dawning realisation that a group of Angels were trying to discretely follow them from a distance. Beelzebub wasn’t particularly sure _when_ the Angels first started trailing them, because they were acquainted with very _few_ Angels, and these ones were insignificant at best. Beelzebub didn’t make a habit of wasting precious memory remembering the faces of a few Angel corporations, and instead preferred _productive_ hobbies. Such as literally anything else.

_Fuck _Angels, but especially _Gabriel_.

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes and could feel anger bubbling over in their stomach. They were foolish to think that Gabriel would take rejection so lightly, although his _stupid cancellation_ was the main reason why Beelzebub was festering in anger. He was still the peak dumbass Archangel, deft with blade and power, and one of the most powerful creatures in existence.

_Of course, he’d retaliate._

_Beelzebub refused to go down without a fight._

The only reason why Beelzebub had noticed the Angels at all, was because these angels were easy enough to pick out as celestial lower grunts. Beelzebub felt a little offended by the complete weaklings Gabriel had thrown their way, but perhaps there was a sneakier plan in play here. Angels were almost always easy to pick out, entirely because of the _indisputable fact_ that Angels were _appalling_ at being _discrete_. They stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd because their mannerisms and body language were always just a little out of phase with the human population.

Human mannerisms, body language, facial expressions, eye behaviour, gestures, posture and the like were _complex_ at best. They were a whole language that was both mutually intelligible to humans, crossing language barriers, while always creating some parts that were specific to cultures and societies and eras. Some stuff was built-in, a _feature_ not a bug, like the emotional basics such as anger, fear, disgust and sadness. Some stuff was cultural; humans around the Mediterranean tended to _flail _with their arms while they spoke, while the Nordic nations largely forgot they had hands. Celestials lacked the inbuilt ability to naturally display the basics through instinct and had to make up for it by learning the local customs.

These Angels had clearly snuck out during their earthly localisation training because they were making no effort to blend in. Humans could pick up that slight intuitive feeling of _other_, of non-humanness, and Beelzebub could see the locals growing more and more _wary_ and _concerned_.

It struck Beelzebub that they could just be Angels out on a normal mission, unaware that they’d fallen into the single most dangerous place to be: _near an angry Beelzebub._

Usually, _Gabriel_ gave Beelzebub the heads up when Angels were on earth, although didn’t disclose specific details due to a roughly mutually understood idea of professionalism within the workplace. Usually, the extent of that was a few Archangels coming down for various diplomacy matters, or a few seraphim doing a few blessings on the odd baby or two. Likewise, Beelzebub generally gave a heads up or two whenever Demons were generally lurking. It was largely a professional curtesy, one created to avoid nexus points of inter-department conflict which could turn into a bureaucratic nightmare to sort out. It was also a curtesy they largely extended each other, from the mutual desire to avoid entangling their personal and professional lives.

That had fallen apart because today was Wednesday, and for the first time in several months, Gabriel had cancelled their weekly Thai Food <strike>date</strike> catch-up with a vague mention of needing to follow up on some urgent business. Something _more important than their friendship_. It was an unnatural curtesy that would never again exist.

The problem with Angels, Beelzebub not-so-privately thought, was that they lacked _subtlety_.

Beelzebub quite frankly didn’t give much of a _shit_ for a while; either the Angels were there on Gabriel’s ask, doing boring Angel blessing work, or the Angels just wanted to join the _expansive_ but _exclusive_ _‘I got my ass kicked by Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and it was awesome’ _club.

Either way, there was an immediate benefit for Beelzebub; the promise of something they could use to goad Gabriel the next time they met up on the ravages of a battlefield, and they got to absolutely _wreck the shit_ of three angels. It had been a long time since Beelzebub had tasted celestial _ichor,_ but they were certainly not out of practice and had half-completed pre-signed paperwork on the subject sitting on their desk just in case of a little celestial skirmish.

Given Peru was always a place that lifted Beelzebub’s spirits, the problem didn’t strike Beelzebub at first, it took several minutes for the details to build into a bigger picture, and for _thought_ to surface.

None of the three Angels trailing Beelzebub were wearing clothing that fit into this era or locality, not even in the cool ironic hipster way that thrift-store youth had popularised. It was within Heavens typical style to dress their operatives in the least offensive, plainest garb for the locality. These Angels were dressed in 18th-century Spanish colonial uniforms, which were both a tad dated and politically a little _precarious._ Beelzebub, who had thrown a red and black poncho over the top of their typical uniform, at least looked like a _respectable_ tourist.

The Angels, on the other hand, seemed to be struggling with the fact that they hadn’t immediately known the language and dialect to use judging by their fumbling antiquated words. Gabriel had waxed whole rambling conversations about language localisation procedures prior to Angels being released on Earth. It was _suspicious_.

The children playing soccer in the street were giving the three Angels a wide berth because they kept staring with wide creepy smiles and praising God a little too loudly. In a whole, the Angels were more in the _‘someone might call the local catholic bishop because there might be weird American evangelicals trying to convert the locals’_ kind of way – which was _shockingly close_ to the truth if Beelzebub said so themselves. That, or the children were a tad concerned that these Angels might be less than savoury sorts hunting for some fresh organs to harvest.

Beelzebub felt a rush of smug satisfaction when the human children kicked the ball towards them, and Beelzebub kicked it back – although it missed the mark and went flying down the street.

It was about three hours after Beelzebub first noticed the three, that they started to look like they were pumping themselves up for a _fight_. It was the sudden smell of foolishness and bravado perhaps, or that fact that the three were very loudly discussing tactics as if Beelzebub didn’t have _ears_. At this point, Beelzebub was quite cheerfully waiting for a street vendor to finish roasting a whole _cuy_ on a stick, marinated in the hottest sauce this side of the Pacific, and sipping on a cup of _mate de coca_. Beelzebub drained the cup and threw it on a nearby patch of grass, where sheep were navigating around piles of trash to graze.

Beelzebub hadn’t planned their day but had a vague idea to follow. After they’d eaten the _Picante de cuy_, maybe grabbed a _pachamanca_ to go, and filled up a keep cup with _Chicha de Jora_ for Hastur, Beelzebub had thought to take a little longer to grab some treats for Dagon. Dagon had been doing a _wonderfully despicable_ job of submitting absolutely _illegible_ and _useless _paperwork to Heaven lately, and making Michael believe it was _Heaven’s_ fax machine that was at fault – and forcing Heaven’s dumbest Angels to wait in Hell’s crowded waiting room surrounded by angry human souls and Demons trying to get worker’s compensation.

The last time Dagon had pulled such a joke, it had taken an _embarrassingly_ long time for the Angels to realise that Hell’s waiting Room was more just the proverbial ‘under the bed’ where they swept their problems for _someone else_ to deal with, and so Uriel had missed most of the 19th century.

It was one thing to pull a stunt, but it was another kind of genius to successfully pull off the _same stunt_ on the _same Angels_ all over again. That kind of genius meant that Dagon deserves some _cuarteados_, some boxes of _manjarblanco_, and some _Quechua charqui_ whenever Beelzebub was strolling past Latin America.

The appearance of three Angels put a slight dent in Beelzebub’s hazy plan. Beelzebub hadn’t been in Huaraz in about forty years, since before the earthquake in 1970. The massive redesign of the city meant that they didn’t really know where to throw their dumbass corporations until Heaven either retrieved the bodies or left them to _rot_ – and Beelzebub was just a little protective of the region, considering the _utterly brilliant parties_ they’d had here. It was why, when the Angels were wandering just a little too close, and making disparaging remarks about the mountains of non-decaying plastic trash, that Beelzebub decided to turn and snap back at them.

“What in the name of Satan himself, are _you three_ doing on _my Mountain_,” Beelzebub snapped, “Don’t you have shitty songs to sing at clouds or something? Flower-crowns to braid in each other’s hair? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“We’re interested in knowing what a _demon_ like you is doing here,” The first Angel announced, “We will not allow sordid _filth_ like you to cause harm to our great Lord’s many children.”

Beelzebub’s eyebrows rose sharply as they inspected the three. All of them, rounded faces, and soft wispy hair, with sing-song voices and chubby hands – they were key characteristics of the _Ishim_. Since the dawn of creation, the Ishim had existed, mostly to extol and praise _Her_ Glory, and had to be micro-managed by Sandalphon because more than one of them had been taken out by a stray sun or two. If Beelzebub thought that the cherub Aziraphale was a tad on the weaker side – and he _WAS_, even though he was a _Principality of the cherubs_, and so was just a bit stronger than the _average cherub_, these three didn’t stand a chance. Gabriel was a cherub, but at least he was an _Archangel_ and genuinely was strong enough to challenge even Beelzebub.

With _Ishim_, it was like stomping down a _flower_.

Beelzebub goggled back, “Are you three morons really going to try and take on a Prince of Hell on a lunch break? _I want to speak to your manager_.”

“I am Zephaniah,” The first said, and Beelzebub made sure to slowly reach into their pocket for a notebook and pen, to scribble down the name and a basic description of the Ishim, “You cannot tempt me away from Her Glory.”

“Right,” Beelzebub acknowledged, “Hell doesn’t want you anyway; this isn’t a recruitment session. We don’t hire _corpses_. Who are you two?”

The last two exchanged looks, before giving their names as Eshel and Kerachiel, which were so insignificant that Beelzebub didn’t really bother about taking down a decent description. The descriptions were only to be submitted to Gabriel if Beelzebub kicked their ass _a little too well_, and they were killed properly or something. The Ishim were as tough as tissue paper – it could very well happen if one of them tripped over their own two feet. Or if Beelzebub looked at them a little too meanly.

It also meant that Beelzebub would get more enjoyment out of squashing a moth than these lot.

“Fantastic,” Beelzebub responded instead, focusing on their peculiarities, “Do you want me to just discorporate you and send a nasty note to Archangel Uriel about how you’ve toddled off from your playpen, or do you want to _leave_ before I call Michael and ask her to come and get you?”

“Archangels do not sully themselves with Demons,” Zephaniah replied, “They have much more important matters of state than to answer to the call of _abominations_. You are not worth their time.”

“_Get fucked_,” Beelzebub retorted, “Just for that I’m calling the worst Archwanker - _Sandalphon_.”

With that noted, Beelzebub pulled their phone from their pocket; unlike Gabriel’s shiny tribute to capitalism, Beelzebub had been using the same indestructible Nokia since 1987. It was dirty and covered in scratches and held together with a little too much tape. Half the buttons were stuck firm with sticky gunk, and Beelzebub had been known to doodle on it with whatever markers were on hand. It also had an undeniable smell of melted plastic, although it was only a little melted around the corners. Dagon had added cheap 3D stickers of fish during a board meeting a few decades ago.

Gabriel had insisted on programming in his own number – and by extension, the numbers of all of Heavens Upper Management just in case of emergencies. Beelzebub had blocked his number, but the rest of the feathered twits were still programmed into their phone. Beelzebub had laughed when Gabriel had solemnly input the numbers (a little because he typed very carefully with one finger) but also because they couldn’t possibly have conceived of a reason to willingly call Michael, or Uriel or _that useless wanker Sandalphon_.

It was a little grudgingly that they punched in the numbers for Sandalphon’s extension and waited past terrible acoustic covers of the Sound of Music until Sandalphon’s weird heavy breathing filled the other side.

“_Sandy_,” Beelzebub greeted as warmly as they could, which was admittedly still a little sub-arctic, “I need you in Huaraz, Peru ASAP. Bring a pair of shears will you, there’s a couple of lost ducklings who need their wings clipped.”

“Lord Beelzebub,” Sandalphon responded wearily, but with a distinct note of surprise, “A greeting is usually considered polite. Although I can’t say that I _expected_ to hear your voice.”

“_Right_,” Beelzebub responded, “But I’m already being polite by calling you instead of murdering a few Ishim. Anymore and you’d be pushing your – _and _their – luck. I’m prepared to exchange pleasantries if you only want half of your Ishim returned. We’re going to have to round up on the second one, unless you wanna split him down the middle like King Solomon himself.”

“There are no Ishim on earth at the moment,” Sandalphon insisted, “No one has reason to be there, nor has anyone submitted _nor_ requested the forms necessary to seek approval.”

“Well, I’m staring at three now,” Beelzebub replied dryly, “If they’re not yours – _finders’ keepers_. The hell hounds need a new chew toy to keep them occupied. They chew up the furniture if left alone, and I’m sick of replacing my throne. No harm no foul if they’re not, here _right_? Can I get that in writing? Send Dagon a fax, if you’ve managed to get yours fixed.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, “I’ll be there soon.”

The phone went dead, and Beelzebub cheerfully stuffed the plastic brick back into their pocket. The Ishim were not looking worried in the slightest, which put a whole damper on the situation. At least taunting them would have been a little fun, but it was a tad harder to taunt Angels when they strongly didn’t believe you. That’s why Gabriel <strike>was</strike> had been such fun; he had _just enough_ self-doubt post-unpocalypse that he at least gave every barb a quick thought before his enormous ego dismissed it. Not that they were ever talking to him again.

“Calling for backup?” Zephaniah responded idly, “No matter, we can deal with you and any other bottom-feeder that you dredge up from the penal colony of Hell.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re confusing Hell with _Australia_,” Beelzebub responded dryly, “Although, it is the same story, isn’t it? Criminals sent far away, somewhere hot and told not to return?”

“The heretic fish demon is your second in command, isn’t she?”

“Yep,” Beelzebub responded, with a pop on the ‘p’, “She’s also responsible for modern grain agriculture, basically kickstarted the creation of sloth. We’re all very impressed with her.”

Zephaniah narrowed his eyes, and his hand flickered down to his waist. Beelzebub could feel a sort of celestial twinge, something being pulled into the fabric of creation and called back to its master. It was the feeling of something different in the air that made Beelzebub’s teeth sharpen in their mouth. Before Beelzebub could fully think, the angel had a rapier in his hand, forged from harsh light and celestial elegance.

Beelzebub goggled in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me?” Beelzebub said, and then swore nastily in an obscure Phoenician dialect, “I’m not going to fight you. I have literally just called Sandy-phon to come and take you home before you trip and hurt yourself. Put that _butter knife_ away, child.”

“We’re not going to fall for your demonic tricks, _beast_.” The Ringleader insisted, although his two buddies were looking more nervous than zealous, “The God-ordained Archangels of Heaven certainly do not – do not _answer_ the call of_ Demons_.”

“I’m _afraid_ we rather do,” Sandalphon announced, as he stepped into being with the crack of lightning, “May I ask what you three are doing here on earth unauthorised? Zephaniah, Eshel, dear _Kerachiel_, this is rather unlike you three to _disobey_ divine commandments.”

The three Ishim noticeably straightened their backs.

“We’re here on the ask of _Archangel Gabriel_,” Zephaniah responded, sword still clutched in hand, “We were commanded to oversee the Demon Prince Ba’al.”

“_Fuck off_,” Beelzebub swore.

“I fail to see how that requires a sword,” Sandalphon responded dryly, “Put that away, will you?”

The Ishim practically sulked as the sword was put back into the divine pocket from which it came.

“His exact words, if you will?” Sandalphon peered through ugly dish-water coloured eyes, “Zeph?”

“Archangel Gabriel asked me _to ‘Locate the Demon Prince Beelzebub and keep an eye on them’ _until Archangel Gabriel could arrive himself, I will not fail this task,” Zephaniah responded promptly, “We sent word to him that the Demon had been located before we engaged in the ‘cellular device’ and sent an image of proof.”

“Oh _fuck_,” Beelzebub swore, at the same time explosive lightning erupted from behind Sandalphon. Sandalphon sighed and seemed to melt into his poorly-fitted ugly beige-yellow suit.

“You _blocked me_!” Gabriel whined, as soon as he appeared on earth, “You can’t IGNORE ME. I’m your best friend!”

“Gabriel,” Sandalphon greeted, in a sort of tone that one would expect from someone who just had their employees stolen from under his nose for a little side quest.

“You cancelled on me!” Beelzebub spat at Gabriel, “You said you were doing something _‘a little more important than Thai food’_. Go back to your paperwork you feathered twat. Fuck off back to your important deadlines and mystery problems.”

“I called up in advance!” Gabriel responded again, storming forward, “Answer my calls! I called on the phone, I sent letters, I tried to use an Ouija board, I sent _sexts_-“

“_Texts_ you moron,” Beelzebub hissed.

“I know what I said!” Gabriel hissed back, and it was _foul_ enough that Beelzebub’s eyes widened a little.

Sandalphon let out a sigh that was loaded with judgement.

“I even tried visiting!” Gabriel ranted, “Walked straight up to the gates of Hell and pressed the _doorbell_-“

“_You pressed the devil’s doorbell_?” Beelzebub choked on their own laughter.

“And I paid the _toll_, and you didn’t come,” Gabriel inhaled sharply.

Beelzebub snorted, “There’s no toll, you just got scammed.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if just answered me!” Gabriel replied in a terrifyingly measured voice, “I even tried _sinning_ in order to get your attention.”

“_Hot_,” Beelzebub shot back in surprise, “What did you do? _Jaywalking_?”

“Glued a bunch of coins to the sidewalk,” Gabriel puffed up his chest.

“I’m sure you fucked it up too,” Beelzebub responded a little fondly, “Didn’t use superglue?”

“No?” Gabriel peered back, “I used a glue stick, so I didn’t make a mess. Do you know how hard it is to get the gross matter out from this fabric?”

Beelzebub inhaled sharply.

“Do you want us to leave?” Sandalphon interjected with a sigh, “Or call a couples therapist?”

“I don’t really care Sandalphon,” Gabriel cheerfully directed towards his fellow Angel, “_Why_ are _you _even here? Don’t you have anything better to do than to _slack off_ on the job?”

“I have _so many important things to do_,” Sandalphon replied in a weary voice, “Lord Beelzebub called me.”

Gabriel whirled on Beelzebub with a look of disgust, “You’re hanging with _Sandalphon_ now? I mean, _really_, Sandalphon. Michael, or_ Uriel_ I could understand.”

“I’m _right here_, Gabriel,” Sandalphon replied incredulously.

“I’m aware,” Gabriel responded cheerfully.

“Sandy is _an acceptable friend_,” Beelzebub retorted, “At least fifty times better at being a Best Friend than you are. He actually remembers to use my proper titles _AND_ he _TURNS UP ON WEDNESDAYS_.”

“I was _busy_!” Gabriel protested, “Stop being so _sensitive_. You survived plenty of Wednesdays without me. I’m sorry you’re _so offended_ that I also have a life, and a job. Why are you answering Sandalphon and not me! Why did you call Sandalphon and not me?”

“I don’t want to talk to you!” Beelzebub hissed, “I don’t give second chances, _wank wings_! Go back to your celestial slumber party and delete my number.”

“I thought you’d _died_!” Gabriel responded.

Beelzebub curled their lip, “You think I can’t take care of myself? I’ve survived on my own for _‘plenty of Wednesdays’ _you utter _pillock_, you think Hell’s going to take me out just because we didn’t eat Thai Food?”

“Dagon told me you died!” Gabriel huffed back, “You didn’t answer, and I called Dagon and she went _‘Sorry Beelzebub is dead to you’_ What was I supposed to think!”

“_Huh_,” Beelzebub responded, and smirked, “She’s right, _I am dead to you_. _Now fuck off and get back to your super important business_.”

“I’m the Archangel of Diligence,” Gabriel rose to full size, and loomed down, “I’m not leaving until you tell me _what’s wrong_.”

“We’ve been doing Thai Wednesday’s for months now,” Beelzebub hissed, “Even when we have paperwork – we’ve literally done paperwork at opposite sides of the room because it was secret – and suddenly there’s something _more important_ than our friendship to you? Did _God her bloody self_ invite you out for tea and scones?”

Gabriel squirmed, and then directed a look at Sandalphon and the three Ishim who were looking remarkably like their whole life had been a lie, “Excuse me this is a _private_ conversation, please leave. You may go.”

“Sandy and I were having a fun Best Friends day,” Beelzebub hissed, “Because we don’t need you. You’re _replaceable_. I’ve replaced you.”

“No, we were _not_,” Sandalphon responded, “I think you’re despicable and the fact that my idiot co-worker has a disgusting little crush on you is the single worst thing I ever heard. It was a _traumatic_ experience for the whole board meeting. Poor Oriphiel started crying.”

Gabriel went bright _red_.

“_Leave_,” Gabriel hissed, and then glowered until Sandalphon and the Ishim vanished, then he pointedly did not look at Beelzebub who was floating between shock and incredulousness.

“You wanna run that by me?” Beelzebub lazily responded, crowing their arms across their chest.

“Not particularly,” Gabriel responded tersely, “Considering that you blocked my number and Dagon told me you _died_.”

“Yeah but that’s not what she _meant_,” Beelzebub retorted, “You going to explain why you cancelled on me without an explanation or why – _I don’t know_, Sandalphon thinks you have a _crush_ on me – and your face is bright red.”

“It’s _anger_,” Gabriel responded, “Anger leaks red into the face.”

“Lying is a _sin_ too,” Beelzebub casually mentioned, “First the coins, now the lying. I’ve never seen someone casually stroll towards the gates of Hell. This will be the slowest Fall in history, but by Satan himself, it’ll be the most painful.”

“I’m not going to Fall, because I’m never taking a _nom de guerre_,” Gabriel responded snottily, “Gabriel is a _perfect_ name.”

“A perfect name for someone who apparently has a crush on me,” Beelzebub pointed out, “Don’t change the subject. I thought you’d tried to send Angels after me to kill me.”

“I would _never_,” Gabriel protested in horror, “You’re my Best Friend – I would _never _harm you.”

“Not even if _She_ commanded it,” Beelzebub responded sharply.

Gabriel pursed his lips, “She would _never ask that of me_.”

Beelzebub snorted loudly.

“I- Sandalphon just _thinks_ a lot of things,” Gabriel responded, “And he _thinks_ he _knows_ a lot of things.”

“He _does_,” Beelzebub responded, “He’s the twin creation of Metatron, so say our sources. If Michael and Lucifer were twin creations and they stand equally as powerful, then what do you think that Sandalphon holds?”

“His name means _‘brother’_ or _‘coworker’_,” Gabriel responded, “He was made to be a worker. That’s his purpose. And yesterday I caught him making garlands at his desk. All he does is bless babies and monitor gender balances on earth, and he’s not too good at that, given he’s started to add his _own_ expansion packs to that task.”

“Why does he think you have a crush on me then?” Beelzebub demanded, “Explain yourself or I’m calling Dagon and I’ll let her eat you, _bones and all_.”

“He started reading the reports I was filing,” Gabriel responded, looking a little too casual, “Because he said his domain was in making people take responsibility for themselves and creating necessary change. He seems to think that because I enjoy holding your hand, and dining with you, and talking to you, and I have _affection _towards you, and _just because I think you smell really good_, and would like to groom your wings, that I have a _crush_ on you.”

“You sniff me?” Beelzebub squinted their eyes at him, “Since when?”

“The _frequency_ of smelling isn’t a key point here,” Gabriel retorted, “Please stay on _task_, Beelz.”

“Right, you have _affectio_n for me?” Beelzebub rolled their eyes.

“I did ask _permission_ to love you,” Gabriel said urgently, “You remember that, right?”

Beelzebub hummed non-committedly.

“Then you can’t be _mad_ at me,” Gabriel smugly concluded, “So you’re going to have to unblock my number right now, so I can call you when I please.”

“Tell me why you cancelled on me _you colossal dick,”_ Beelzebub responded bluntly, “And I’ll _consider _unblocking your number.”

Gabriel looked a little unsure for just a minute, but eventually let out a sigh.

“I did ask permission,” He responded, flicking his eyes back quickly before looking away, “You _can’t _be mad at me, because you _said_ I could love you. Please don’t be mad.”

Beelzebub stilled.

Gabriel visibly shook with tiny little shudders.

He was like a bee, Beelzebub idly thought. Vibrating with something that wanted to explode out of him. Although they could understand what Gabriel was alluding to – the puzzle pieces didn’t fit together no matter how they turned them and tried to piece it together.

“What?”

“_You said I could_,” Gabriel responded a little more desperately, and the muscles in his face were twitching while Beelzebub stared back in perfect stillness, “You _can’t be mad at me_.”

“For _what_?” Beelzebub responded, because they were not going to be the one to voice a thought, so dangerously new and ridiculous in concept.

Gabriel faltered, “I – I cancelled today because I need time to figure it out. I’m not sure. But you can’t be mad at me, because you _promised_.”

Beelzebub kept their eyes fixed on him, brow furrowing over the empty surprise that had taken control of their limbs. They found themselves nodding slowly.

“I don’t want to be _wrong_,” Gabriel said, and frowned, “Please don’t block my number. I’ll see you next Wednesday? You can’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not _mad_, “ Beelzebub responded, and found with a surprise that it was true, “I’ll see you Wednesday. I’ll unblock your number.”

Gabriel sagged with noticeable relief, “_Good_.”

With that said, Gabriel disappeared with a crack of lightning, running away with the cowardice on his face. Beelzebub stared at the location he had just stood, feeling something churning inside their stomach.

Perhaps drinking mate de coca and eating endless cuy might not have been the best choice.

Just as Gabriel disappeared, Beelzebub did too, and went to find Dagon.


End file.
